The Little Paris Patisserie: A heartwarming and feel good cosy romance - perfect for fans of Bake Off!. Julie Caplin
under the radar until the very last scrapings of the large casserole dish on the table while Dan and Jonathon bickered over who was going to get the last piece of lamb.
‘So what’s happening with this car of yours, lovie?’ her dad asked.
‘It’s still in the garage. They couldn’t get the part but they’re hoping it will be in tomorrow.’
‘It’s going to take more than a part to fix that thing.’ Her mum shuddered. ‘It’s a death trap.’
Nina muttered under her breath, but no one heard her because they’d already pitched in with their own views on her car. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her little Fiat.
‘Mum, you don’t need to worry about Nina in that thing, she can’t pedal fast enough to get into any trouble,’ teased Nick.
‘A sewing machine’s got more power,’ chipped in Dan.
‘I do wish you’d get something a bit more sturdy. I worry about you getting squished by a bigger car.’
‘Ma, you don’t need to worry, Nick’s truck would go straight over the top of it.’ Dan, having won the battle over the lamb, dropped his knife and fork with a clatter on the plate.
Mum shuddered again. ‘That’s even worse.’
‘I love my car, leave it alone,’ said Nina. She missed it desperately at the moment because she was so reliant on lifts from everyone else.
‘Tom in the pub’s wife is selling her car. I could take a look at it for you, if you wanted,’ said Dad. ‘It’s a Ford. They’re good reliable cars. Don’t cost much to run.’
And as boring as hell, thought Nina.
‘Oh, that’s a good idea, darling,’ her mum added.
Nina was about to say something calm and sensible like, ‘As I’m about to pay for the repairs, it’s probably not the best time to think about buying another car’, but she’d had about enough of them all thinking they knew what was best for her. Honestly, they still thought of her as the baby of the family. So instead, she jumped up, glared around the table and yelled, ‘I like my car as it is, thank you very much!’ before grabbing her coat and storming off out through the back door to her flat.
As she slammed the door behind her it was rather satisfying to hear the shocked silence reverberating around the table.
When the soft knock came at her door, as four sponges were cooling on the rack, she knew it would be Nick. Despite the fact he nagged her the least, he was the most protective of all her brothers. Part of her wanted to ignore him and pretend to be in bed but she knew that her uncharacteristic outburst would have already caused a stir, and if she didn’t answer the door, he would keep knocking.
‘Yes?’ She opened the door a couple of inches making it clear she didn’t want company.
‘Just checking you’re alright.’ His cheery grin held a touch of strain.
Feeling guilty, she opened the door wider. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Just fine?’ He took a step into the open plan studio flat, shutting the door behind him.
‘Yes, just fine.’ She sighed. ‘Do you want a cup of tea or something?’
He raised a teasing eyebrow. ‘Something? You got a hidden stash of brandy or whisky I didn’t know about?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, would it matter if I did?’ She was way past being teased and didn’t care if she let her impatience show. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed I’m a grown woman. It was a figure of speech. You’ll be relieved to know that all that’s lurking in my sad cupboards are a couple of boxes of PG Tips.’
‘Ooh, someone put her grumpy pants on this morning – or was it a certain phone call earlier?’ Nick folded his arms and leaned against the wall.
‘It has absolutely nothing to do with flaming Sebastian Finlay. I’m fed up with the whole family treating me like a baby. I’m nearly thirty, for fu…’ She hesitated, as he frowned. If she actually swore, he really would go into a tailspin. ‘For flip’s sake. Mum and Dad fuss so and then bloody Jonathon and Dan join in. Cath and Gail both think it’s ridiculous how you all worry over absolutely flipping nothing. And you’re the absolute worst, coming over doing the big brother act. I don’t need it.’ She stood her ground, glaring up at him, her hands clenched by her side. Although it was tempting to flounce across the room and throw herself onto the sofa, it would look like a childish tantrum and she needed him to know that they were all driving her crazy. Maybe she was a bit hormonal today, perhaps a bit tired, but this had been brewing for a few months.
‘It’s only because we care,’ explained Nick.
‘I get that. I really do.’
‘But?’
‘I … I feel…’ The problem was she didn’t really know what she felt. Frustrated. Irritated. Weak. Going nowhere. Treading water. Sukie, her friend from work, the pastry chef, was off to New York. Her career was taking off. Nina didn’t even have a career let alone the opportunity to take off. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the experience, let alone the cooking credentials or qualifications, to apply for Sukie’s job. Nick wouldn’t understand and neither would the rest of the family. They were all content and happy, although she suspected sometimes Nick would have liked to leave the farm and widen his horizons a bit. Only Toby, four years Nina’s senior, had moved any distance away when he’d gone to Bristol to study to be a vet, and now he’d come back he was only fifty miles away, although that was at least out of range of daily scrutiny.
‘I know it’s hard being the youngest and the only girl and Mum and Dad do worry because you had a pretty rough start—’
‘Don’t you dare say it!’ Nina held up a hand.
‘What? That you nearly died when you were born? But it’s true.’
Nina buried her head in her hands. ‘Yes, and it’s history. You’d think I’d been at death’s door for most of my life. Apart from appendicitis and the usual coughs, colds, chicken pox, I’ve never been properly ill.’
Nick didn’t say anything.
‘Have I?’ she prompted.
‘No,’ he admitted with a grudging smile. ‘So I’m not going to get a tea or something?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Nina did flounce this time, crossing to the kitchen area to flip on the kettle. It wasn’t as if she could go to bed yet, she was still waiting for the sponges to cool down before she could sandwich them together with the coffee cream and walnuts. ‘Oy.’ She rapped his knuckles with a teaspoon as he snaffled one of her freshly made scones and took a bite quickly.
‘Mmm, these are good.’
She ignored him as she made a quick pot of tea. There was something soothing about making it properly and it was a definite delaying tactic.
She brought the pot and, bowing to Nick’s bigger frame, a mug as well as one of her favourite vintage cup and saucers, over to the small round dining table to the left of the kitchen area. The open plan living area was perfect for one and she deliberately kept the number of seats around the table to a minimum. This was her bolthole and she’d made sure it was her space. She’d used pastel colours on the walls and bought pretty, delicate floral fabric to make curtains and cushions to stamp her feminine identity on the place. Being surrounded by four boys all her life had definitely influenced her décor choices. Growing up at the farmhouse, most things had been practical and robust. Colour had not been a significant feature. Jonathon and Dan’s idea of interior design had been to paint their bedroom walls in alternate black and white stripes to emulate their beloved Newcastle United.
‘Here you go.’ She pushed the mug of tea towards her brother.
‘So what’s brought all this on?’ asked Nick, his face softening in